The corridor reeked of gunpowder and blood.
Luke pressed his back against the cold concrete wall, his M4 carbine raised as footsteps echoed from around the corner. Beside him, Ethan made quick hand signals—two targets, moving fast.
Just another Tuesday night, Luke thought grimly. Hunting terrorists in a warehouse.
They'd been partners for three years, working cyber-security operations for the FBI. But tonight was different. Tonight, they were hunting King—a terrorist who believed humanity needed to be "cleansed" to survive in a world where dungeons appeared out of nowhere, spilling monsters into city streets.
Ethan moved first, a precise three-round burst that dropped the first target. Luke followed up, his shots finding their mark before the second man could raise his weapon.
Clean. Quiet. Professional.
They advanced toward the reinforced door at the end of the hallway. Luke tested the handle—unlocked.
Strange. King wasn't the type to leave doors open.
Luke kicked the door open. "FBI! Freeze!"
The room was sparse. A single table, a chair, and a figure seated with his back to them, reading a book. The man didn't move.
"I said freeze!" Luke advanced slowly. "Hands in the air!"
A low chuckle echoed through the room.
"Special Agent Luke Chen. So predictable. Did you really think it would be this easy?"
Luke's eyes narrowed. His gaze dropped to the floor, catching the faint shimmer of light.
A projector.
"Hologram."
"Very good," King's voice continued. "Though I expected you to notice sooner. After all, you are working on advanced technology yourself, aren't you?"
Luke's mind raced. How did King know about the program?
Cold metal pressed against the back of his skull.
"Don't move," Ethan's voice said quietly.
Oh. Oh no. . .
The pieces clicked into place—Ethan's unusual interest in the program, his insistence on expanding its parameters, the way he'd pushed for lower combat thresholds.
He was King.
"The hologram," Ethan said. "Pretty impressive, right? But it's still missing something. For true hunter enhancement, it should affect reality. Become an extension of the hunter's will." He paused. "I might have forgotten to add that improvement."
Luke's voice came out cold. "Forgot? Or was helping hunters never your goal?"
"So that's why you locked me out. The password-protected features."
"The combat threshold. You wanted it at sixteen." Luke kept his voice steady. "Anyone below that number would die during integration. That's when I knew."
"Think about it, Luke. No more weak links. Just hunters. Strong, capable, able to defend themselves. Everyone would be a weapon."
"Everyone who survived the culling, you mean."
"Sacrifice is necessary for the greater good. Dungeon gates are appearing more frequently. Soon, conventional weapons won't even slow them down. We need perfect warriors."
"By killing half of humanity first?"
"By making sure that the survivors can actually survive what's coming." Ethan shifted his weight. "Which brings us to our problem. You."
Here we go, the part where he explains that I have to die. Love this part.
"When your mother created the program, she made two original copies. The first was synthetic—hidden behind the wallpaper in her bedroom. But the second copy? That one was hidden in a person. You, Luke. DNA synchronization. Neural mapping. You are the administrator copy."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"And that's why you have to die. The only way to transfer authority is for you to grant me permission..." The gun pressed harder. "...or for the current administrator to be eliminated."
Now or never.
Luke spun.
His fist caught Ethan square in the jaw, sending his former partner stumbling backward. The M4 carbine clattered to the floor. Luke lunged forward, driving his shoulder into Ethan's chest.
They crashed to the ground. Ethan recovered quickly, throwing a punch that glanced off Luke's cheekbone. But hand-to-hand combat had always been Luke's specialty. He blocked the next strike, countered with two rapid jabs to Ethan's ribs, then followed up with a brutal elbow to the face.
Ethan's nose shattered with a wet crunch.
Luke staggered to his feet, breathing hard. His limbs felt heavy, vision slightly blurred. He spotted the M4 carbine and stumbled toward it.
Behind him, Ethan groaned and crawled toward something—Luke's magnum, dropped when Ethan first pulled the gun.
"No—" Luke lurched toward the rifle, but his legs betrayed him. Too slow.
Ethan's hand closed around the magnum's grip. He rolled onto his back and aimed.
BANG.
The shot caught Luke in the left shoulder, spinning him around. He hit the floor hard. Hot blood poured between his fingers. White-hot agony made his vision swim.
Footsteps approached. Through the haze, Luke watched Ethan stand, swaying slightly.
"Missed," Ethan said. "Was aiming for your heart." He squatted down. "Guess I'm rattled."
Luke tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. The blood loss was too much.
"Don't worry though. If my plans work out, I'll prepare a place for you in that future. Then you can come hunt me yourself." He raised the magnum, pointing it at Luke's chest. "Say hi to the devil for me, Luke."
"Pretty sure he's already standing right in front of me."
BANG.
Darkness.
Not the darkness of sleep, or even unconsciousness. This was something else. Something vast and empty and utterly silent. Luke floated in it, neither alive nor dead, aware but not present.
Time meant nothing here. Days stretched into weeks. Weeks became months, months became years. Each one marked by a singular, burning thought:
Revenge.
He would find Ethan. He would stop him.
[ORIGINAL GENESIS PROTOCOL CORE ACTIVATED]
The words appeared in his mind, glowing with impossible light.
[ACCEPT ADMINISTRATOR CONTROLS?]
Luke stared at the words. One chance. One choice.
"Accept."